


White Horse

by 00Wandering_Ghost00



Series: Odes of Corrosion [3]
Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Frenemies, Gen, He was aiming for the Major, Poor horse RIP, Short One Shot, Songfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-06 23:56:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12221553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/00Wandering_Ghost00/pseuds/00Wandering_Ghost00
Summary: A little ficlet set in my main work, "This Corroded Valentine"'s universe. It tells us about the Bucephalus incident, and was inspired by a song. Lyrics will be quoted in the fic.





	White Horse

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, this fic was inspired by Staind's "Outside".  
> Warnings: The fic contains coarse language, ill opinion about a positive character, death of an unfortunate horse, and lyric quotes. You've been warned, proceed with care!

_[A sort of preview image I made for White Horse](https://sta.sh/0nf8sn51q53)  
_

 

_“...All the times_

_That I felt like this won't end_

_It was for you_

_And I taste_

_What I could never have_

_It was from you_

_All the times_

_That I've cried_

_My intentions_

_Were full of pride_

_But I waste_

_More time than anyone_

_But I'm on the outside_

_And I'm looking in_

_I can see through you_

_See your true colors_

_'Cause inside you're ugly_

_You're ugly like me_

_I can see through you_

_See to the real you…”_

He kept looking at the white horse in the distance, aiming at the man sitting in the saddle. His sniper rifle sat steadily on the sill of the church's window. Simcoe exhaled, and moved his trigger finger. His target disappeared behind a tree. "Bloody knobhead..." he spat. Hatred was an understatement for what he felt towards the Major. And it wasn't without cause. Everyone in Setauket loved Hewlett and his condescending, patronising way of treating people and problems, even if he didn't do anything at all to solve them. On the other hand, everyone in Setauket hated Simcoe even if he did nothing against them. John blinked and turned back to the scope of his rifle, hoping to see Edmund's figure on the big white mount. Then his angry thoughts took away his attention again. Was he the only one who saw that man for what he really is? That behind the smarmy, "everyone's strict and caring father figure" facade, he was just a pompous, self-absorbed dolt? Simcoe took a deep breath, because he caught himself growling out loud. He knew. At first sight, he also bought Hewlett's act of "Mr. Nice Guy", then he started to see his true colours. All the punishments and regulations he had to endure along with the endless lectures about 'Law, Order and Authority', all the name-calling, the never ending belittling of him and his deeds. John had enough of it. Today, he will end this annoying little man, and make the world a better place. The horse treaded to open space again, so he could take good aim.

Then the horse bowed its head to graze on the grass, and another soldier appeared, blocking Simcoe’s line of sight for a moment. He cursed, and raised his head. He has to wait for the perfect time to pull the trigger. He reminded himself for the reason why he was about to shoot his superior. Because he was everything the Captain despised. All human weakness personified. With all the hypocrisy of morals and decency. Sitting on his high horse – now literally – looking down at him, calling him a beast. But he saw the same beast in the Major the night the two of them got in a fight, and the Major’s knife ended up in the Captain’s kidney. He was lucky, for the wound wasn’t too deep, and it healed quite quickly, but the wound the ordeal inflicted on his psyche didn’t heal that fast. How dare that midget decry his only feature that kept him alive until now, after all of that? Simcoe glanced back at his target through the rifle’s scope. The soldier was gone, and the wind blew softly. The white horse was still grazing on the ground, with an oblivious Major Hewlett in its saddle. The little man was looking at something in the distance, something that Simcoe didn’t bother checking. He adjusted the barrel, taking aim, but then the horse moved, dragging the Major out of the crosshairs. John took cover behind the church’s window, and lifted up his long leg to use it as support, and braced his back to the wall, holding the rifle in the steadiest position he could. He looked into the scope again, following the horse’s every movement with an eager trigger finger. He could think of a thousand reasons not to. He could have convinced himself that he is seeing things, things that aren’t there. But he knew. He could always tell if someone was lying to him. And all the Major’s patronising was nothing more than a big fat lie. He had to believe it. He had to keep the storm rage on, or else he would fall apart. The Beast was an ugly and hungry thing, and it demanded blood. The blood of the weaklings. The victims. Nuisances. The Major’s ilk. Simcoe pulled the trigger. A piece of metal flew through the air with high velocity, and hit the unfortunate horse in the head. The dead animal tripped and fell, dragging it’s rider along, before another shot blew another hole into it’s carcass.

Half of the garrison ran to Major Hewlett’s help. Among the chaos, Captain Simcoe’s tall figure left the church, and went over to the shooting range. Nobody paid attention. Nobody knew. He couldn’t kill the Major, but his pained screaming gave some odd feeling of satisfaction to Simcoe. He still had his life, but lost something dear to him. It was almost as good as shooting him and getting rid of the bossy midget for good. He just finished putting a few more holes into a figure-target, when someone patted his shoulder. He turned around, ready to face the Military Police, but it was only Corporal Eastin. “Did you hear it, Captain?” he asked. “What was I supposed to hear?” Simcoe asked back indifferently. Eastin leaned closer, and lowered his voice. “Someone shot the Major’s horse. He’s gutted. Still sitting there in shambles, crying over that beast.” The Captain’s face was expressionless, and his voice dry. “What a pity. But you see, I was here, with my ears covered, so I didn’t hear a thing.” Eastin shrugged. “It was only a horse, I doubt MP would even investigate with all the deserters and rebels around here.” Simcoe turned around, and took his ear-covers. “If you excuse me Corporal, I have to practice.” he said. “My aim became a tad rusty.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for suffering through it. ^^; Let's have a moment of silence for poor Bucephalus.  
> As always, feedback is appreciated, but not mandatory. :)


End file.
